Weakness
by Laine
Summary: Things are starting to fall apart for the Dragon Slayers. Will they ever be able to bring their forces back together, or will their efforts only drive them further apart? Sequel to 'Blinded'.


Disclaimer: Blah blah... I don't Migel or the Slayers, or any such things that rightfully belong to Bandai. Don't sue me. I have nothing you would want anyway.   
Author's Note: After months of sweat and hard work (and let me tell you, Uni is no walk in the park either), Falling part 4 is finally finished. I hope you like it!   
Author: Laine 

* * *

**Falling   
Part Four: Weakness**

Thunder rolled across the skies over Zaibach, and the heavy gloom could not be lifted from outside the Floating Fortress, nor indoors, where many young soldiers lay weary and restless. It had been but two days since the storm clouds had settled over them, and it seemed that it would be too long before they were to leave. 

Most of the soldiers who longed for battle spent their time by the window, watching and ever hoping for the storm to pass. One such soldier was waiting as the others did, though his patience had worn thin long ago. Hands behind his back, he paced about his room, stopping only to gaze out of his window, his dark eyes following the grey clouds as they slowly passed him by. Once he grew bored of the sights he saw outside, and of walking in circles about his room, then did he turn to the figure standing opposite him. 

"Did you say something, Folken?" 

A long sigh escaped the lips of the Strategos. He had just spent the past half hour laying out a very timely and intricate strategy for the coming battle with Freid, and the boy hadn't listened to a word he had said. Usually he would listen to his plans with rapt attention, but most often interrupting with more daring ideas of his own. Yet today he was silent and unattentive. Was there something wrong with him? He seemed troubled, to say the least, though he knew not of the cause. 

_Another time, I suppose. A time when he's not so distracted. Then I shall return with his strategy._

Folken turned, and made his way towards the door. After all, there was no use in laying another speech upon deaf ears. 

"Did you come here for a reason, or did you have nothing better to do?" The mocking tone brought him to a halt in the doorway. 

He had thought that he was finished here for the time being, but Folken turned again, his face calm and emotionless, despite the intense sense of irritatation that plagued him. "Don't forget your place, Dilandau." He said sternly. The boy laughed quietly at that remark. 

In a softer tone he continued. "We're making our move on Freid in the next couple weeks. I will give you further instructions when you are more inclined to hear them. See to it that your Dragon Slayers are ready." 

Dilandau scowled. "My Slayers are _always_ ready for battle, Folken." 

The older man made a gesture that looked something like a shrug, but it was hard to tell under his long, black cape. "So you say. There was the incident of that one boy a couple days ago... wasn't he one of yours?" 

At this Dilandau looked away, his cheeks burning, and his eyes flashing in anger. He said nothing, but instead threw himself down on a chair and clenched his fists at his sides. _Damn Strategos. There's no use hiding anything from him. He always seems to know what's going on around here. How the hell does he do it anyway?_

Folken nodded. "So it was." He sent the glowering boy a sidelong glance. "He's in the infirmary now, resting should you want to see him." 

"And why would I want to do that?" 

Another shrug-like gesture. "He's in the infirmary, Dilandau." Was all he said in reply. He sent one last questioning look to the Slayer. "And try to get yourself together." He added, and was gone. 

Dilandau jumped to his feet. "Wait! Is he... can he-" But his words fell on an empty room. He sat down again with his head in his hands. 

"Damn." 

He resumed his previous act of pacing about the room. _Damn. Damn that fool Migel and his insolence. If it wasn't for him..._

A hand went to his jaw where the ugly purple bruise he recieved the night before was to reside for another few days. Of course it was nothing in comparison to what the Slayer lying in the infirmary was going through. He was terribly ill and in alot of pain, and Dilandau himself had discovered, during a fight the two of them had yesterday that he was also temporarily, if not permanently blind. He scowled. 

He hadn't been able to get his mind off the condition of the Dragon Slayer for the past few hours, and had been unable to put his mind to other, more important issues. Now it seemed there was nothing else he could do but go and visit the sick boy, see if he was feeling any better... and give him a piece of his mind. 

Because he was still furious at him for being disobedient. 

And it's not like he really cared... 

It was the least he could do. In fact, it was his duty to periodically observe his men and see how they were doing. Dilandau tried to reassure himself that that was all it was. 

_He should be grateful knowing that he has such a sympathetic, gernerous and merciful leader. Or I wouldn't be doing this. He'd better be damn thankful that I didn't do anymore damage than I did, otherwise he'd really be..._

The silver-haired boy stopped himself. What _would_ he be? Dead? An involuntary shiver went down his spine, as he imagined himself walking into the Zaibach infirmary and finding a the Slayer's rotting corpse lying on one of the beds. Dilandau made a face as vivid mental images of his unmoving body assailed his mind's eye. He was surprised to find it difficult to keep reminding himself that such a thing would never really happen. He was even more surprised to find he was suddenly feeling rather light-headed and short of breath. 

_What the... what's wrong with me?_

A faint knocking at his door brought the Slayer back to his senses. And luckily, all mental images of Migel's lifeless face disappeared at that same moment. 

"Come in." He said, running a shaky hand through his short hair. He tried to act as nochalant as possible as Gatti cautiously stepped into the room, carrying a large file folder full of papers under one arm. He saluted his commander with the other. 

"Sir, the General wishes me to tell you - " 

Dilandau waved his hand, not even looking at the Slayer. Gatti's sentence was left unfinished. "I don't care what that idiot has to say. Can't you see I'm busy?" 

Gatti could see no indication of his doing anything remotely productive, aside from pacing back and forth in front of him. Then again, no one really knew what went on in their leader's mind. He wisely chose to keep his thoughts to himself. Instead, he walked up to the desk in the center of the room, and keeping his eyes on the pacing figure ahead of him, slowly lowered the large brown folder on top of it. He glanced back at his commander. 

Dilandau's back was to him, and he seemed to be muttering something to himself. Another thing Gatti decided was not worth disrupting. He glanced again at the other boy, then began to back away. 

"Well Sir, I'll just leave these papers on your desk. If you want to look at them later - " 

"Hold on." Dilandau spun around, focusing his cold, red eyes on his subordinate who immediately stopped in his tracks. 

"Y- yes, Sir?" 

There was a pause and Dilandau smirked, watching the nervousness in the young Slayer grow. "Gatti." He said softly, the grin on his face growing. "Gatti, you're just the person I need." 

Bewildered and sweating beyond belief, Gatti nodded his head, walking back towards his commander. "What do you need, Sir?" He said with some trepidation. Another long silence passed before Dilandau acknowleged him. 

"Something has to be done about..." He purposely let the end of his sentence hang in the air. He raised a hand to his chin, as if in contemplation. 

_Perfect..._

Gatti couldn't help but lean closer, patiently awaiting his next words. "About what, Sir?" He ventured. 

"You see, someone has wounded me very deeply. They disobeyed my orders and as a result, one of my best Slayers is out of commission. Might you know who I'm referring to?" 

He didn't wait for an answer. "Now this traitor needs to pay for his mistakes. And you are going to help me carry out the punishment." A malicious grin surfaced to emphasize his final point. 

_This is too perfect..._

Gatti's eyes widened. "B-but Sir... I can't... I mean, what could I possibly-" 

Dilandau shrugged. "You can start by shutting the door." 

*** 

"He's still resting. You can't see him." 

Bright stars, were but flash of white in the darkness. Their intensity burned him, the pain searing through his entire body. And still he reached for them, trying to gasp them in shaking hands, as if their heat would cleanse him, dispelling all his impurites. 

_Like the sword that drains the tainted blood from a fallen body..._

The stars dimmed, their light fading into the black abyss until nothing was left but a forlorn figure, standing with arms outstretched. Then, the trembling figure pitched forward, falling downward through the abyss. 

_I'm falling? ... No, this can't be!_

With much effort, tired blue eyes slowly opened, blinking. Pale, cracked lips parted in an effort to speak, but the only thing that left his mouth was a dry cough. 

_Who's there?_

He could hear voices in the blackness that surrounded him. They were faint, barely audible however, pitted against the incessant ringing in his ears. 

_Where am I?_

The figure lying on the unfamiliar white sheets struggled to sit up. Blinking again, the head full of brown hair swiveling from side to side, a frown on the ashen face as tired eyes tried to discern their surroundings. The voices grew louder. 

"Do you have any idea of who I am?" 

"Yes I do. But that doesn't change the fact that you can't see the patient right now. He needs to recover from his wounds, and rest is the only way he can do that right now. I'm sure you understand." 

A sudden silence overpowered the figure on the immculate bed, and he strained to hear the voices again. Nothing. Again the dark eyes travelled the blackness. He found nothing but the fact that simply moving his eyes was enough to make him feel faint and nauseous. 

Then his keen ears picked up the faint sound of footsteps, quickly growing louder. His body tensed in anticipation as the footsteps grew louder still. They stopped what he guessed was a few feet away from him. A sigh was heard, and his hand shot out, grabbing a starched shirt, and it's wearer in a vice-like grip. 

"Who are you, and where am I?" He asked, his throat aching with every word he spoke. 

He heard a muffled gasp, and felt some resistance against his strong grip. 

"Answer me!" 

A soft, voice answered him, breathless and shaking with anxiety. "Y- you're in the infirmary, sir. Don't worry, you're going to be okay." 

_The infirmary?_

"What am I doing here?" He asked, speaking more to himself than the figure he had in his grasp. 

He tried to recall the last time the attendants left their charges in complete darkness. Recalling what had caused him to be feeling so faint was more difficult, and his head began to ache with the effort. 

"Why..." 

He stared blankly in the direction of the voice he had heard. Nothing. Unknown to him, a pair of curious green eyes stared back. 

"Who are you?" He demanded. 

He could feel the starched cloth shift slightly in his grasp. "That doesn't matter. Now if you could let go -" 

The brown-haired boy frowned, not relinquishing the grip he had on his captive. He gave the startled figure a rough shake. "Who... was that outside?" 

There was only a moment's hesitation. "No one important." The unseen figure managed to loosen the strong hand and pull away. "Just lie down and relax." 

The dizzy, disoriented soldier felt a soft, but firm hand push him back down. 

_No.... let go of me!_

He was struggling. He couldn't see anything. The dull ache in the back of his head and the sickening feeling of nausea were back to plague him. He put a hand to his forhead and found he was sweating profusely. 

_Not again..._

The voice seemed to sense his anxiety. "That's perfectly normal. You have a slight fever, but it's nothing to worry about." 

"No, you don't understand..." Blue eyes pleaded with an unseen figure, as he tried to sit up. He squinted into the darkness, reaching out, his hands shaking. "I need to get out of here. I must -" 

"Don't say anything. Just close your eyes and relax. You need rest, and plenty of it to recover from the trauma you've been through." The soothing voice spoke gently into his ear. 

Perhaps it was the comforting tone of the voice he heard, or the faint sensation of pain he felt in his arm, but Migel soon found himself losing all interest in getting up, and fell into a deep sleep. The fading memory of the mysterious voice still plagued him in his subconscious. 

*** 

In the warm and uneventful common area of the Dragon Slayer's wing, while others talked in hushed tones, three slayers sat in complete silence, contemplating. Ever since their comrade had left their company but two days ago, there had been a strange quiet, a silence over the many respected soldiers of Zaibach. 

Every one knew and respected Migel. He was one of the best Slayers, Zaibach had. He could handle a Guymelef well, was near unbeatable in hand to hand combat, and was clearly one of Lord Dilandau's favourites. Now he was out of service, fallen not in battle, but from some strange illness of the mind. Or so they were told. 

No one could make sense of what caused his 'illness', save the few people that were present the night it all began. And even they didn't know the whole story. Only one young Slayer knew, [though not all of it]. He sat leaning against the wall, legs outstretched and holding a cold, wet washcloth to his bruised cheek. He sat with the knowledge that he could have prevented it, that perhaps he was it's cause. 

_I should never have given him that needle... I should have let Gatti do it. I was nervous... I messed everything up._

Those he called his friends sat by his side, not even begining to comprehend the guilt that was eating away at his conscience. Dalet, on his left was staring at the ceiling, not having spoken a word since breakfast. Guimel, sitting on his right, was humming softly to himself. It was a tune that Chesta couldn't recognize. He was about to ask of it's origin, when the curly-haired boy placed a comforting hand on his comrade's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Chess. It was an accident." 

Dalet nodded in agreement, speaking aloud for the second time in the day. "And accidents happen all the time, so you shouldn't worry about it. He'll be fine. He's been in worse scrapes than this. Remember the time when -" 

A warning glance from Guimel stopped him. 

The smaller blonde Slayer managed a weak grin at his friend's attempts to cheer him up. "I sure hope so..." He whispered, trying to sound encouraged. 

Only a few moments later, he hung his head, chin resting upon his chest, the faint smile now gone from his lips. 

Guimel shot Dalet another angry glare once Chesta wasn't looking. The other boy shrugged. _'What else was I supposed to say?'_ He mouthed over the small blonde head. 

_'I don't know...'_ Was the silent reply. 

*** 

_I thought I knew what was going on... now everything seems to be falling down upon me, and I can't do anything to stop it. Something's happened to me, and yet I can't remember any of it... I can't remember... why am I so weak?_

Dark hair fell limp on a flat, damp pillow. A heavy head shifted back and forth, eyes closed, as if in an unsatisfying dream. 

He was burning. The flames had returned from the recesses of his mind, and were consuming him, mind, body and soul, once again. 

_"Can you see me?"_

No... he couldn't see the flames. He could feel their heat, the sharp pain they brought to his weakened limbs. They were there, just... 

_"No! I told you before..."_

Everything had disappeared from view. He was alone, he was weak. He was afraid... He was falling. 

_What's happening to me?_

Something, no someone caught him. 

_"My Gods... someone... anyone! Help me..."_

The sound of rushing footsteps. 

_"M-master! What happened? What's wrong with him?" _

"I don't know... he just... he's..." 

The once immobile figure on the infirmary bed jolted upright with a startled cry. Trembling hands raised in front of the pale face went unseen as the darkness enveloped him, smothering him from all sides. A faint strangled sound left his mouth, as he began to feel threatened by the black ink that pressed down on him. 

He took no notice of the reassuring hand that stroked his back. The soothing words that for some reason sounded so familiar... 

"Oh God..." He choked. "I'm really... I..." 

"Shh. Don't talk. You're going to be just fine." 

He felt himself being laid back down. The weight of the darkness had been lifted from his progressively weakening body, and only the traces of silken fingertips could be felt upon his feverish forehead. Those same fingers wiping the tears from his eyes. The soft breath upon his burning face. 

He could hear the slow, steady breathing, the rustle of fabric as their wearer rose to their feet. A long sigh. And yet he couldn't discern the shape of the figure that leaned over him. There was nothing. He reached out, grasping nothing but a feeling of nausea as his fears were finally recognized. 

_Oh God... I'm really blind._

He never saw the sadness nor the pity in the unblinking green eyes, nor the compassionate hand that reached out again to him. His darkness had already surrounded him, his eyes closed in a dreamless sleep and fresh tears glistening on his pale face. 

*** 

Many long moments had passed before Dalet ventured to break the unnerving silence in the Dragon Slayer's common area. 

"Hey, has anyone seen Gatti?" 

As if on cue, the door swung open. Three heads turned to see a tall figure standing in the doorway. Guimel rose, grinning. "Well speak of the devil! So where've you been? We were just -" 

The aforementioned Slayer sighed deeply, as he walked briskly towards his comrades. He put a hand on Guimel's shoulder. 

"I would have come sooner but I was just speaking with Lord Dilandau. He wants to have a word with you." 

Dalet also got to his feet. "Good or bad news?" He assumed it would be something regarding Migel, but failed to notice that Gatti's gaze fell directly upon Chesta. 

The blonde Slayer sighed. "I guess I'd better head out then. We shouldn't keep Lord Dilandau waiting." However, he took his time in getting up, and the others looked on, eyes full of curiosity. 

Dalet stepped back and stood beside Guimel, about to wish his friend 'good luck', but Gatti shook his head. "No, he wants you there too." 

"Me?" The dark-haired Slayer gulped. "B-but I didn't do anything!" 

Gatti shrugged. "That doesn't matter. He wants you there." He then glanced at Guimel. "And he wants you to take this to General Adelphos. We may be going to war with Freid after all." He produced a thick roll of parchment from behind his back and handed it to the curly-haired Slayer who nodded at once then went straight for the door. 

He looked back to Chesta, who was standing mute by his side, rubbing an ugly purple bruise on his cheek. He was not about to ask where it came from. He already had a pretty good idea... 

"Ready?" Dalet and Chesta nodded in unison. 

"Let's get this over with." Dalet said, wrinkling his nose as the three boys walked purposefully down the hallway, only one of them knowing of their fate. 

*** 

Dilandau sat rigidly at his desk, tapping his slender fingers against the dark wood. He sat this way for many moments, before slamming his fist down, rattling the empty glass of wine sitting atop the papers he had yet to read for the day. 

_What was taking him so bloody long?_ He'd specifically told Gatti to bring the Slayers back for two thirty. His red eyes strayed to the large clock against the wall. 

_Two thirty-two._

He resumed drumming his fingers atop his desk. 

_Two thirty-three._

Things just weren't going his way today, and that was rather irritating, for things always went as he planned. First Folken putting him down... but it's not that he cared about what the Strategos thought anyway. What bothered him was that the common staff wouldn't let him see his own Slayer. Common, menial staff! Not even a soldier of any rank... 

Dilandau snorted. The nerve of that young med... he got what he deserved though. A fist where it hurt. He relished the fact that the young man would likely have a bruise just as bad as the one he'd recieved just yesterday. His hand went involuntarily to the welt upon his chin, stroking it softly. _Where was that boy?_

Another quick glance at the clock, and a knock sounds upon the door. 

"Come in." Dilandau growled. 

Gatti entered first, followed by a meek-looking Chesta, and a bewildered-looking Dalet. "Sir," the tallest one began, "I brought the -" He was silenced by a wave of the hand. Dilandau rose to his feet, and strode over to his three Slayers. 

"You're late." 

He brought his hand swiftly across Gatti's cheek. Chesta bit his lip as he saw his friend's head reel back from the sheer force of the blow. Dalet stared ahead, trying hard not to notice the trickle of blood running down Gatti's nose. 

"Get out of my sight." 

Gatti raised a hand to wipe the blood from his face, but thought better of it, and quickly saluted his leader. "Yes sir." He mumbled, then hurried out of the room. 

Dilandau turned to the two remaining Slayers. "Now what to do with you..." He fixed his icy gaze on Chesta. "If it wasn't for you and your incompetence... Labariel... my best Dragon Slayer wouldn't be lying in the infirmary like an invalid..." Chesta lowered his eyes. For that he recieved a harsh slap across the face. 

"I was humiliated in front of the Strategos..." Another blow. Dalet looked away. 

"Folken... he _knows_!" Chesta recieved blow after blow, the last finally knocking him to the ground. This seemed to make Dilandau even angrier. "Get up you weak fool. I'm not finished with you." Chesta struggled to get to his feet, but Dilandau gave him a harsh kick in the side. "I said get up!" 

The blonde-haired Slayer tried to conceal a groan as he tried to stand. Dilandau let out an exsasperated sigh. "Are you goin to help your disgraceful comrade, or are you just going to stand there like an ass?" 

Dalet's cheeks flushed crimson. "Y- yes sir." He mumbled as he bent to help Chesta to his feet. He put an arm around the shorter boy, letting him lean against him for support. He was in terrible shape. His lip had been split open, and there was an ugly red mark on his chin. His right eye was partially closed, another bruise right above it. Dalet grimaced as his comrade coughed weakly, tiny flecks of red mingling with the saliva that dripped from his mouth. 

"Shall I take him to the infirmary, sir?" 

"I never said I was finished with him, the pathetic moron." A wicked grin spread across his face. "Just hold him there." 

Dalet's mouth dropped open. "But sir, shouldn't I -" 

"Do as I say, Slayer." Dilandau said, his eyes blazing. His soldier had no choice. 

_I'm so sorry Chesta..._

Dilandau's fist met with it's target, producing a pained cry. Each time he pulled back, all he could think of was the intense blue eyes that somehow looked through him, those eyes that were unseeing, and may never see again... 

Chesta's feeble cries of pain, Dalet's look of horror. It didn't matter any more. His pain, his humiliation was all that mattered. Someone had to pay for it. His breathing had grown heavier, and it was all he could hear, Chesta's weak protests were but a faint sound in the depths of his mind. 

_Labariel... you fool. Look at what you've done._

Something warm and wet hit him in the face. It took him a moment before he realized that it was blood. His hand stopped in middair. 

_Migel..._

Both Dalet and Chesta crumpled to the floor, a small pool of red slowly spreading around them. Chesta looked as if he was unconscious, eyes squeezed tight with pain, Dalet simply stared at his leader with a look of terror and disbelief, the blood of his friend on his hands. 

Dilandau ran a stained glove through his hair, not noticing the dark red smear it left on the silver strands. He stared back at Dalet, his mouth opening as if to speak, though nothing came out. Then he pointed to the door. 

"Go." He covered his hands with his face. "Just... go." He closed his eyes. The sounds of moving bodies, one being carried by the other were heard. Then footsteps, slowly, painfully making their way to the door. It closed behind them. 

*** 

He was just lying there with no one to tend to him. He looked completely helpless. Nothing like a Dragon Slayer should be. It was sad, really. Once a formidable foe, now reduced to a fragile commoner. Not even a Dragon Slayer. 

_What was his problem anyway? Why was he so weak?_

"Migel..." 

To think that the actions of one could have had such an impact on all the others... it was absurd. Yet there he lay, the instigator, sleeping as peacefully as one could, under his conditions. 

_What is to become of the rest of us?_

Hands and face pressed against the glass, staring into the orderly white room, the shadow at the window went unnoticed, leaving only a bloody mark in it's wake. 


End file.
